‘I don’t quite see the connection.’
‘But Doctor Meijer!’ Herr Bisang pressed both thumbs to his temples and pulled a face again. ‘You are an intelligent person. One can tell just by looking at you. No, no, don’t contradict me. I have an eye for these things. You have to be able to read people in a post such as mine. You understand what I mean.’
‘To be quite honest: no. I’m asking you for a work permit for a receptionist, and you…’
‘Stop there,’ said Herr Bisang and raised his hand like a traffic policeman. ‘Let’s not muddle things up. You have made an application; I have received an application to process. It has nothing at all to do with a personal request. If it were up to me…’
‘Yes?’
‘But it isn’t up to me,’ said Herr Bisang. ‘We have our instructions. Rules. Guidelines.’
‘Frau Pollack would really be the ideal receptionist for me.’
‘Ah, you see, Doctor Meijer…’ Herr Bisang seem to have reached a favourite topic of his. ‘What is ideal? It would be ideal if I could retire tomorrow on a full pension. But authorities are not there for the ideal, but for the doable. And this work permit is not doable.’
‘My I ask you the reason?’
Herr Bisang coughed and brought a hand to his throat as if to check that some new illness wasn’t on its way.
‘Application for entry with a view to accepting a workplace can only be authorised if in the professional sector in question it can be demonstrated that there is an inadequate supply of local applicants.’ The sentence sounded as if it had been learned by heart, as indeed it probably had been.
‘In this special case…’
‘There are only special cases.’ Herr Bisang laid his fingertips together as carefully as if it were a difficult trick. ‘Particularly among you Jews.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Please don’t misunderstand me, Dr Meijer. I have no prejudices. I do not know such things. For me there are only facts. Figures. Statistics. And it is an indisputable fact that the number of applications from German citizens of the Mosaic faith has risen very sharply over the past few years.’
Arthur had planned to remain very calm, but now he noticed something welling up in him that would not be held back, just as nausea often needs release at the most unsuitable moment.
‘It is also an indisputable fact,’ he said sarcastically, ‘that something else has risen sharply over the past few years. Namely the persecution of the Jews in Germany.’
‘Doubtless, doubtless.’ Herr Bisang nodded as if Arthur had just agreed with him. ‘That is also presented as a reason in many of these applications. Rightly, I assume. But…’ He was not yet content with the alignment of his watch chain, which required all his concentration.
‘But what?’
‘It cannot be the task of a Swiss authority to solve German problems.’
‘These are human beings!’
‘Yes,’ said Herr Bisang and nodded again. ‘There you come precisely to the point, dear Doctor Meijer. You see, that is the first and the hardest thing that one must learn in such an office. Almost everyone who places an application here is right. As a human being. As a single person. As an individual. And yet we must turn down most of these applications. Because we must think of the whole.’
‘These are empty words! Anti-Semitism in Germany is a reality!’
‘Precisely because it is a reality.’ Herr Bisang had discovered a sensitive spot on his neck, and was touching it very carefully with his fingers. ‘Precisely because we see every day the terrible effects such a reprehensible philosophy can have. Persecutions. Bullying. Loutish behaviour in broad daylight. As if it were the Middle Ages.’
‘That’s precisely why…’
‘That’s precisely why, my dear Dr Meijer, we can’t let the same thing happen in Switzerland. Nip it in the bud! If I reflect that there has been a Frontist representative for Zurich on the national council for two years — that is an alarm signal!’
‘And we defeat the Front by closing the borders?’ Arthur was really furious now, and it was an emotion that he only allowed himself very rarely.
‘I didn’t say that. But neither can we open the gates wide. We must precisely regulate immigration, with a dropper, as one might say. You as a doctor should understand that.’
‘I’m probably too stupid,’ said Arthur. ‘But I’m sure you’ll explain it to me.’
‘Only too happily. Although…’ Herr Bisang pulled his pocket watch over, looked at the time and shook his head resignedly. ‘Ah well, time is marching on. Where were we?’
‘You were trying to explain to me why I should be in favour of the rejection of my own request.’ Arthur’s voice trembled with the effort of not simply yelling in response to the official’s dusty calm.
‘Of course, of course. There is that rule in medicine: any substance applied in the correct dosage can be curative. Or at least not damaging. Is that not the case? But if one introduces an overdose of anything to the organism…’
‘An overdose of what?’
‘A state, my dear Doctor Meijer, is also a kind of organism. In which all the parts must work together. Each one in its place, and each in its God-given quantity. As long as nothing changes, the whole remains healthy. But if that equilibrium is disturbed… In our neighbouring country we can see what that can lead to. Irritations. Reactions. Convulsions.’ The medical vocabulary seemed to remind him of something. He took a silver pillbox from a desk drawer and reached into it with pointed fingers.
‘Do you mean…?’
‘I was only trying to give you an example. From your own sphere. Our country is still healthy. Largely healthy. We have fortunately been spared the illness of anti-Semitism. Largely spared. But if there were suddenly a Jew standing on every street corner, a foreign Jew to boot — for how long would Switzerland remain immune? And once such an infection has taken root…’ Herr Bisang nodded significantly, he knew his way around infections, that was supposed to mean, and put a small pink pill in his mouth by way of precaution. ‘It must be in the greatest interest of the Swiss Jews to avoid anything that might encourage anti-Semitism in this country.’
‘Do I understand you correctly, Herr Bisang? You are refusing Frau Pollack’s accusation because one Jew more might encourage anti-Semitism in Switzerland?’ Now Arthur was really raising his voice.
‘My dear Doctor Meijer! How can you accuse me of saying any such thing? I don’t mean the individual. Not the single person. Not the human being, as you so rightly said a moment ago. But as an official I am obliged to see the larger contexts. To think beyond the day. In your interest too.’
He pushed aside the folder containing the application, as if everything was sorted out and finished, and rose to his feet. ‘If there’s anything else I can do for you… It’s always a pleasure to talk to an intelligent person.’
Zurich, 1 August 1937
Dear Frau Pollack,
I would so have loved to be able to report a positive result, so I have repeatedly postponed writing this letter.
But everything turns out to be much more difficult than I had expected. I fear I have failed.
Outside in the street a brass band is passing. Today is the Swiss national holiday, and many fine speeches will be delivered. Has it always been the case that there is barely a connection between words and deeds? Or has it only struck me so clearly in recent times? (Do brass bands play so loudly because so many hypocrisies need drowning out?)
I have been informed, very kindly and correctly, that a work permit is absolutely out of the question. If at all, such a paper is issued only for positions for which no Swiss applicants can be found. (Which actually means none at all.)